by The last time I’d seen Fenella Beaumont, she had been wearing a flashy designer evening-gown and too many diamonds. She’d hosted a massive party for a large group of magickal invitees — including us — in this very castle, specifically for the purpose of breaking the news about the fifth Britain. Jay and Zareen and the Baron and I had wrecked her little coup, which hadn’t exactly made us popular with her.
Her smiling friendliness unnerved me. So angry had she been about our interference, she’d taken an axe to poor Millie’s doors and windows. Now she welcomed us to her ancestral castle with impeccable manners and a smooth smile — the same castle Zareen had lately endeavoured to wrest from her entirely, with the help of George Mercer, supposedly one of her own employees. Was her friendliness purely because we had the answer to all her wildest magickal dreams in our possession? Fenella’s stated ambition was to revive magick in our own Britain, no doubt for nefarious purposes of her own. Torvaston’s invention would be as exciting to her as it was to us.
Still, I would have expected at least a genteel insult or two, delivered through that smiling mouth. Her elegant self-possession was out of character for a woman capable of hacking through solid oak doors in a fit of temper, and her air of gracious welcome was over the top.
And her captives now included all the people responsible for the collapse of her carefully-nurtured plans.
‘I do believe we’re in for a double crossing,’ I murmured to Jay and Zareen, as we followed Fenella through Ashdown Castle’s great hall.
Jay agreed. ‘I don’t think it’s going to be as simple as hand over the scroll and high-tail it out of here.’
Zareen’s only response was a black look of pure hatred. I wondered briefly what had passed between them during the days they’d been stranded in some other Britain together, and decided not to enquire.
‘You okay, Zar?’ I said.
‘No,’ she said shortly.
Fair enough.
Mission Objective: Retrieve Alban, Emellana and Miranda from Fenella Beaumont’s clutches, preferably without handing over any part whatsoever of Torvaston’s ancient research, then fly like bats out of hell. Before any of us went stark raving bonkers (again), or did anything we might regret; and without falling prey to any of Ms. Beaumont’s inevitable schemes for our downfall.
Easy.
The long drawing-room turned out to be a vision in sage-coloured silk and brocade, and in surprisingly good shape considering the tumbling-down state of the castle. It had the pristine, polished look of recent refurbishment, though since the room’s historic character had been meticulously preserved, it had to have been expensive. Very expensive.
Was the entire castle scheduled for a similar upgrade? The money it would take to restore Ashdown to its original condition would run into breath-taking sums, and I wondered, once again, where Ancestria Magicka’s cash came from. The Beaumont family had sold the castle to the corporation, which Fenella claimed to have founded. But that sale had been made because the family was virtually destitute. Either Fenella had somehow made eye-watering sums of money while she’d been somewhere off the radar (and if so I seriously wanted to know how); or they had an incredibly wealthy backer somewhere. We still didn’t know who that might be.
‘Nice paint job,’ I said lightly as we walked in. ‘Must’ve cost a bit.’ I scanned the room as I spoke. Alban stood near the fireplace, leaning one arm against the mantelpiece. He looked up at the sound of my voice, and smiled, but there was tension in every line of his body, and the smile was strained and forced. Emellana sat in a huge armchair a few feet away, ostensibly her usual serene self, though with a watchfulness about her that I hadn’t before seen. She looked at me without smiling, and I could not read what might be going on in her mind. Both of them looked oddly docile, considering their predicament. Either they were under some kind of enchantment courtesy of Fenella, or they were planning something, and waiting for the right moment to strike. Which was probably our arrival.
Things could get interesting, pretty soon.
Miranda stood by the window, looking thunderous. She glanced at me, and looked away, but not before I’d got a glimpse of the terror that lay behind her rage. Hardly surprising either. She’d lately betrayed the Society in favour of Ancestria Magicka, then betrayed Ancestria Magicka in order to help the Society, and now she was surrounded by representatives of both. Not an enviable position to be in.
Her own fault. I hardened my heart, at least for the present, and set that matter aside. We would get her out. What she did after that would be up to her.
‘It cost quite a bit,’ said Fenella drily, and waved a hand, indicating the glittering contents of her drawing-room as though she was personally responsible for the lot. ‘Like what you see?’
Actually, I did. The room was a vision of possibility. All the castles and great houses of Britain could look like this, if only there was money enough. But there never was. Most of them mouldered away under minimal maintenance, and too many fell into ruin. ‘It’s magnificent,’ I said, with total honesty.
She smirked. ‘What if I told you it wasn’t money that did this? Or, not only money.’
‘Then what was it?’
‘Magick.’ She stood between me and her hostages, watching me like some kind of widow spider. She was more casually dressed than she’d been the last time we had met, in a blouse and trousers, her silvery hair caught up in a simple knot. But she still reeked of money, and she had the predatory air to match.
‘So it’s illusion?’ I said, disappointed. Fakery was of little practical use.
‘No. Everything that you see here is real.’
‘I’m confused. You used magick to reupholster some chairs…? I suppose, if you’ve got the manpower—’
‘You aren’t thinking, Ves.’ Fenella cut me off.
‘Don’t call me Ves,’ I snapped.
‘Ves,’ said Alban. ‘They’ve used magick to regenerate everything in this room.’
‘Regenerate?’
He met my eyes, and nodded. He didn’t have to say anything else. My mind was already reeling.
See, regenerating damaged or decayed objects — or creatures — is one of the many arts we’ve just about lost. If it ever existed within the realms of possibility at all, and there are multiple schools of thought on that topic. It’s why the Society employs ordinary doctors, like Rob, despite having some of the most powerful magickal practitioners alive on its payroll. It’s why the team Miranda used to head up included a couple of veterinarians, and why we have conservators and restorers on the staff. Regenerating anything that’s broken or injured would require such huge expenditures of magick, it hardly bears thinking about. I mean, can you imagine what it would take, to turn back the clock like that?
There simply isn’t magick enough left in the world.
‘That has to be a lie,’ I said.
‘Why?’ said Fenella. ‘Possibilities abound beyond the borders of our own Britain. You have seen that for yourself.’
That silenced me. I hadn’t previously had any clear idea as to what Fenella and Co might want to do with Torvaston’s magick-regulating project, but I’m fairly sure the word “nefarious” passed through my thoughts.
This wasn’t nefarious. This was brilliant.
And exactly the right thing to wave in front of me, curse her.
‘Well, great,’ I said briskly. ‘Good for you. Anyway, about our colleagues?’
‘Perhaps they would like to remain here,’ said Fenella, in her silkiest voice. ‘Perhaps you might, too.’
‘No,’ said Jay briefly.
I rolled my eyes. ‘Another subversion attempt? No, thank you. We are never going to be interested.’
‘Oh?’ said Fenella politely. ‘At least one of your number has not been quite so impervious, has she?’ She looked at Miranda, whose face darkened even further. ‘And your own loyalties have proved to be more… flexible, than might have been expected.’
Damnit. Here was the backlash from Milady’s clever, Ministry-dodging schemes. As far as Fenella knew, we had abandoned the Society some weeks ago: ostensibly in favour of founding our own rival organisation, though now we were here under the Troll Court’s aegis. If we appeared unreliable, it was kind of our own fault.
‘We are not interested,’ I said firmly. ‘We want to make the exchange and then leave. Please.’
Sadly, Fenella shook her head. ‘How heart-breaking it is, to watch so remarkable a group waste your talents on such backward-thinking organisations. Bring Torvaston’s work to us. Give us exclusive control over it. We will do all the beautiful, magnificent, world-changing things the Court would never countenance. And you can be a big part of that, Ves.’
‘Don’t call me Ves.’
She gave a tiny sigh, and looked at Jay, and then Zareen. Both of them shook their heads.
I felt a moment’s unease. Clearly she had been having this conversation with Alban, Em and Miranda before we had arrived. They had refused — surely?
Of course they had. Emellana was as steady as a rock, and she’d been loyal to Mandridore all her long life through. And Alban’s devotion to his adoptive parents could not be questioned, considering everything he had taken on — and given up — for them.
I wasn’t sure about Miranda, and she would not meet my eye.
‘You’re getting Torvaston’s research anyway,’ I said to Fenella. ‘Just as soon as you release our friends. And then we will be leaving.’
‘I would prefer to have… everything.’
‘That is not going to happen.’
‘A pity,’ said Fenella, her smile still in place. She held out her hand. ‘I will take whatever it is you retrieved from that tower, then.’
‘The artefact no longer exists,’ I told her. ‘Torvaston destroyed it. But we have his plans.’ I withdrew the delicate scroll from my bag, and offered it to her. ‘Release our companions, and you may take it.’ And please don’t look at it now.
She made no move to do so. ‘Lovely,’ she said, regarding me with narrowed eyes. ‘But what a pity that the artefact no longer exists.’
‘Isn’t it?’ I agreed. If she imagined we were hiding the thing from her, well, that was a species of red herring. Perhaps it would keep her too busy to think of inspecting the scroll.
‘Well!’ said Fenella, turning to smile brightly at Alban, Emellana and Miranda. ‘It appears we are finished here.’ She inclined her head to them, apparently in respect, and something changed. Emellana sat up, blinking, and Alban straightened.
Miranda bolted, straight for the door. Alban and Em followed. Once all my friends were safely on my side of the room, with an open door behind us, I tossed the scroll to Fenella, who caught it with a flourish.
‘Perfect,’ she said, and waved the scroll in dismissal. ‘Delightful of you to visit. We must do this again sometime.’
Did that mean we were free to go? All of us? Without interference? I hesitated, alarms blaring in my mind. This was far too easy.
‘Ves,’ said Zareen. ‘She’s up to something. The ghosts— they’re—’ She broke off, crossed quickly to the nearest wall, and laid a palm against the silk wallpaper, her eyes closing.
The drawing-room door abruptly slammed shut behind us, with a resounding boom, and I heard the tumblers rattle as the lock turned.
Crap.
‘They’re what?’ I said. ‘Zar?’
‘George,’ she hissed, and her eyes flew open again, to settle accusingly on Fenella. ‘You made him do this.’
Fenella smiled. ‘George has remembered which side his bread is buttered. Shall we say that?’
‘Zar,’ I said. ‘What’s going on?’
‘They’re agitated. George is waking them up, making them—’ She paused for breath. ‘They’re preparing to move the castle.’
Uh oh. ‘Can they do that so soon?’
‘George is forcing them.’ These words emerged as a growl. ‘You can’t do this,’ she said, fixing Fenella with a wrathful stare. ‘This is why none of us wants to work with you. You use people for your own ends, and you use them until they break. You’ve broken George, and you’ll destroy these waymasters.’
‘They are dead,’ said Fenella.
‘They’re still people.’ Zareen’s eyes went ink-black from lid to lid, and she snarled something I couldn’t decipher. She was fighting back, trying to block George’s efforts to whip up the waymasters Fenella had enslaved.
She didn’t have the strength for that. Not now. She’d break, too, and I wasn’t at all sure if she would mend.
But I didn’t know how to stop her, or George either.
